


in spiders' eyes, a man becomes a fly

by bunnyctzen



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Qian Kun-centric, and overly ambitious old timey prose, mentions of blood and minor gore, solo kun nation rise!!!!!, spooky sorcerer kun, this is honestly just indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-09 16:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20997740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnyctzen/pseuds/bunnyctzen
Summary: in the darkest corner of the woods, down through the twisted and overgrown trail near the river and across that rickety old bridge, lives a sorcerer.





	in spiders' eyes, a man becomes a fly

**Author's Note:**

> yeet !!!!!! we back out here with 2/3 for spookfest!!!! 
> 
> this is my oldest wip i've been sitting on it for like a year????? it's honestly more of a drabble than anything but i hold it very dear to my heart and i wanted kun 2 shine on his own ok he deserves it
> 
> (all of my lov n thanks 2 mel as always but u know that already)
> 
> UPDATE: WE HAV A RUSSIAN TRANSLATION!!!  
it's over [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8776707) if u would like to read it, thank u to @staticinradio on twt !!
> 
> theme day: witchcraft and magic

in the darkest corner of the woods, down through the twisted and overgrown trail near the river and across that rickety old bridge, lives a sorcerer. now, though his name isn’t common among households in the nearby town, it gets around. whispers in taverns, in alleyways on dark tongues with sinister wishes. if someone needs a deed carried out that ought not to be done, one will always see to it, for the right price.

along the beaten old path that no one dares to follow, through the bushes that prick the skin of those too feeble to push through. the tangling vines that shroud glowing-eyed creatures that sneer and foam at the mouth, and the ever-present fog. then and only then, will one find the dwelling of the old sorcerer, so he may carry out the misfortunes they themselves are too weak to inflict.

a price, a price. nothing comes without payment, and no payment ever matches the last.

a man employed to cause trickery is sure to ask wicked favours of those who seek his guidance and expertise. 

_would you bet your life on it? your family? your limbs?_

the sorcerer has cut a man’s tongue out in exchange for freedom, crippled another for fame. sometimes, he asks for his payment up front—when he’s feeling particularly generous. most times, if a beady-eyed, eager man up to no good requests assistance at the witching hour, he signs a contract to give up anything for the ill-doing he seeks.

a potion, a hex, a spell. blood magic. a summoning. nothing is too dark or immoral for this sorcerer. he’s been around for centuries, and seen it all. humans are nothing but pawns and stories to him—something to chronicle in his journals, to remember with mirth.

he requires the blood of the sorry fool as signature with each contract. they hand over their dreams and accomplishments in hopes of indulgences. families in poverty wish for money; they are haunted by tortured souls of the dead along with their riches. a man sees his eyes pecked out by crows in exchange for a chance to go back in time. the other stories are much the same.

another curious soul stumbles through his woods, lured by stories of wealth and fortune and no warnings of consequences. a meek, young woman. eyes sallow. her knuckles rap lightly on the veined wood of the sorcerer’s door, nearly too quiet to register, but the sorcerer’s ears hear all. guests never catch him by surprise; mystical foresight prepares him for every visit, conundrum, and query.

“i heard whispers from the townsfolk that… a _sorcerer_ lives here. tell me, were they true?”

he rises easily to answer the voice at his door; he always knows what’s in store. he approaches, and takes the doorknob in hand. he turns it slowly, pulling the door open just enough to catch the eyes of his next fated customer.

“i dare not set you further astray, traveler. if it is guidance you seek, you find yourself at the right doorstep. if it is the sorcerer you seek, i shall grant any wish in your heart. look no further, for i am he.”

she nods immediately, as quick to trust anything she’s told as all others who have stood here before. the sorcerer easily sells the charming façade he puts on, despite how difficult it is to hide the black ice in his gaze. this man is certainly not to be trusted, and yet, so many lost souls find themselves on the path to his quarters.

with a deceptively warm smile, he opens his door to the stranger. he leads her into the living area. “come in, and close the door. tell me what you seek and i shall see it done.”

“your… your mysticism. o, great one. it was…” the traveler looks down, wringing her hands. clearly, a bad memory fogs her thoughts and haunts her sleep. it shows on her body, worn out and hollow like her eyes. 

“the long winter claimed my sister. a great sickness has been spreading through the lands, and i fear she just wasn’t strong enough to see it pass. we lost her, and the officials burned her body in piles with the rest. she was lost among them, buried in a mass grave. she… she had a son, of four years. a bright one, with a promising future ahead of him and shining eyes.”

the sorcerer does not press; he only nods, allowing the woman to go on. 

she sniffs, swallowing back the emotion her grip lies only loosely on. “sorcerer, i would give anything to see her alive again with our family. she was such a caring, giving soul. our entire village suffers with her passing, and i can’t bear to live another minute without her. please. is there anything you can do?”

he ponders the request for a moment. every transaction is a memory. a delightful game to play—the tips of his fingers tingle in anticipation. just how will he chronicle this particular affair?

of course, once he decides, the answer is simple. 

“do you know the principles of necromancy? the way the laws of the natural world twist to raise one who has already seen the end? tell me, traveler. are you aware of the cost of this request?”

the meek woman shakes her head.

“my dear, it is but a feat of blood magic. a dancing of souls, a game of cards with the devil himself. one does not request such a thing without offering up a life in exchange for the one lost. do you accept the price?”

the woman takes time to contemplate.

“your sister will live to see many suns and moons, with her child by her side. your village will prosper with her knowledge and guidance, and many lives will be touched by her presence. do you offer your own flesh for hers, or do you come to my place of dwelling with foolish dreams of a perfect future after having danced with a greater demon?”

clearing her throat, she makes eye contact with the sorcerer again.

“i have come to see the great qian kun with no qualms regarding his power and loyalty to his word. i understand the consequences, and i am ready to face them.”

“very well.” he reaches for a blank sheet of parchment on his coffee table, then his ink and quill. with utmost care, he inscribes a contract that’s lasted him many centuries, word for word on the parchment. he finishes the document off by drawing a carefully dotted line on which to sign, and a blank space beside it. 

“write the name of your sister, and sign in the blood that binds you to this earth. henceforth, i shall see that your request is brought to fruition. no supernatural harm shall come to her.”

the hollowed visitor nods a final time. accepting the offered quill to write her last characters, she pricks her finger to use her blood as ink. 

kun dusts the soil off of his pants. wrings out his hands. they’re quite stiff after gripping the rusty shovel from his shed long enough to dig a hole as deep as this one. he finds his way back inside—he’s never gone back on his word, and there is work to be done.

chalk circles are drawn on the floor. with salt and herbs surrounding the star within, kun hums. he cleans his obsidian blade with pride and great patience. he’s never shown hesitance, taking a life; it’s common enough in his line of work. some blood magic requires but a single taste, but spells like this require every last drop the human body has to offer. an eye for an eye; a life for a life. simple as can be.

his fingers deftly search along leather bound spines; some are ornately decorated with gold leaf and metal clasps, while words are rubbed off and edges torn on others. a fair number of spell books in his keeping have been ruined by careless spills over the years, but his attachment to them leaves them on his shelf all the same. 

“ah, yes. hiding from me, were you?”

this particular book weighs like a bag of stones; its red leather is gold-trimmed. a shimmering tassel down the middle reminds him of the place he left off last; he sets it down to begin his work. 

he needs mere seconds to find the page he seeks—if he concentrates hard enough, the characters in front of him glow on the page. 

it’s not often that the sorcerer is treated to this particular spell; he can’t help the yearning that curls in his stomach. 

the bowl in the center of his pentagram is fine copper from deep within the earth, and every drop of blood he pours into it grounds the spell to the world below. ancient tongues are a whisper on his lips as he chants, lighting the candles along the perimeter with a phrase for each. 

wind curls around the cabin, and creeps through the window like greedy fingers. it grabs at his ankles, and caresses his skin. 

every word the sorcerer chants brings the spell closer to fruition; the wooden flooring between the lines of the star cracks, and hellfire burns loose. sparks fly, singing the tips of his hair, but he fears not. he embraces every dimension he can touch. he yearns to visit them, though a mere taste is all he can ever receive.

the last verse passes through his teeth. kun’s favourite part begins.

black mangled claws scratch at the edges of the pentagram. they leave deep grooves in the wood below, and burn everything they touch as the being drags itself out of hell by the very tips of its fingers. 

it reaches the surface. its soulless glowing red eyes burn right into the sorcerer. 

everything comes to this. the sorcerer dips his index finger in the blood before him. he runs it along his lower lip. he cleans the remainder with his tongue and swallows it before the greater demon. 

the final step, of course, is to seal with a kiss. 

every bit of skin that touches the demon chars black. the sorcerer revels in every second of it. it sucks the blood off his tongue until it’s satisfied, then hellfire consumes it until there is no trace of its form on this side of the earth’s crust. 

though the sorcerer is left a little empty afterward, he knows he’s done well. 

more will come. 

he will wait for them.

**Author's Note:**

> happy halloween bois !!
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/xingowo) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/xingowo) ♡


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